


Nowhere to Turn

by Okamichan6942



Series: Nowhere to Turn [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, M/M, Pre-Series, au-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2007-12-16
Updated: 2008-06-28
Packaged: 2018-02-09 13:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1984068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okamichan6942/pseuds/Okamichan6942
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz-centric. AU ish . Nothing is as it appears. Sometimes all it takes is one individual to hold a unit together… and one to tear it apart. Eventual Jazz/Sideswipe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This could possibly be considered a slight AU, as Prime's unit isn't quite the normal one we see. As a matter of fact we're only going to get outside glimpses of Prime's unit. It's never seemed real clear in the cartoon, but I like to go by the idea that there used to be a heck of a lot more units than Prime's on Cybertron (a lot like we see in IDW-verse, with Prime being the 'Commander General') that were slowly wiped out by the Decepticons. The core group we know of in Prime's unit didn't start there.
> 
> This fic is promising to be rather sizeable. It's my attempt at doing a pairing 'right' (by actually starting at the beginning of the relationship, rather than in the middle, which is where I'm more comfortable). I'd been itching to write Jazz/Sideswipe for a while, and was ecstatic to be struck by this plot bunny.
> 
> Originally this was written as a separate back story piece for the rest of the fic, but I felt that the actual first chapter started too sudden and needed a prologue. I thought about doing a Sideswipe POV chapter, but that just revealed too much about his character. This however suited my need just fine.
> 
> WARNING: This part contains some mechanical gore, I don't think it's really gruesome, but it's there.

Jazz used to consider her a friend.

Used to consider her a comrade-in-arms.

He'd never thought he'd be allowed to hold her in his arms. Watching her for so long, she seemed too fine for his soiled hands, so real and yet just beyond his touch. He'd never thought he could ever charm his way into her spark like she had wormed into his.

He fingered the secondary trigger at the small of her back, cradling her to his chest, heedless of the coolant spattered across her hourglass torso. Except that it was  _her_ coolant that covered his hands, and  _her_ coolant brightly pulsing from the slit in her neck.

After being together for so long, how could she do this to him? To the entire unit?

She stared at him, optics wide in shock, hands clenching weakly at the air. Coolant spurted from the panels that used to mount the barrels of her altmode; ripped off in a rage that had left the metal torn, and the wires shredded. It coated his hands, pooling about his feet.

He'd loved her from a distance for a vorn, savoring every glance she graced him, wallowing in every greeting she gave.

He'd never been so shy and Razoredge, his keen optics seeing the furtive glances Jazz threw her way, had asked him what the difference between her and every other bot who had caught his eye.

Jazz had no answer for him at that time.

He clutched her frame, unwilling to believe that she was  _dying_  in has arms. Unwilling to believe what had happened. Yet there was no denying the truth. Even when he looked away from her, trying to find somewhere that didn't remind him of the broken femme in his arms, the truth was smeared in bright blue streaks across the walls.

A shudder shook his plating, and tears rolled down his cheeks. Dental plates clenched back a glitching sob as he bowed over her.

Razoredge, always on the lookout for the well-being and happiness of his small team, assigned her to accompany him on what should have been a simple mission. Jazz wasn't exactly sure how he'd explained the need to the CMO, but it had done what the Special Ops commander had intended, even if not exactly in the manner he'd wanted.

Captured by Discordance, tortured and interrogated, they'd found one another in the terror of those that expected to die. In desperate hands and hot mouths that needed to find a moment of peace in the confines of an enemy stronghold.

It hadn't been enough.  _He_  hadn't been enough.

Trembling fingers stroked the edges of an open access panel, the cable within sparking from having been torn from its moorings.

Her mouth gaped with words that couldn't be pushed past her vocalizer. Those wires had also been neatly cut. He gently wiped off the energon that dribbled from the pool in her mouth, not wanting it to ignite along her severed power lines. Not wanting it to mar her beautiful face.

Jazz used to consider her a lover.

He didn't look up when another mech pounded into the bare room.

"Freeze, put your hands in-"

Silence, surprised and sudden. The blaster aimed toward the two Autobots on the floor wavered.

Jazz finally looked up when the last bit of light died within her eyes. His jaw still clenched, moist tears still wetting his cheek.

"Jazz?" A communication accompanied that single query, a call for backup. "Do you-? I detected…" Red Alert couldn't seem to get the words out. Finally the red and white mech straightened, composing himself. "I'm going to have to arrest you for the…" Keen optics took in the fluids smeared across the walls. "-the torture and murder of a fellow Autobot." The sharp gaze sought out an open panel on the wall, a broken cord still attached to it, then he glanced at the femme's access panel, shorting and sparking. "Pending further investigation."

Jazz wiped her name from his memory banks and he shuttered his optics, leaning his head back against the grief that seized his spark. "It ain't murder, if it's killin' an-" he choked on the word, his fuel tanks churning with the unfinished sentence. He resolutely pushed on. "-if it's an enemy."

Another glance from the broken cord to the sparking panel. "That will have to await Firestar's evaluation."

More feet pounded down the hall, only to grind to a halt just behind the new security officer.

"What happened here?  _Let me through!_ " A red femme forced her way to the forefront, helped along the way by a much larger red mech. She jerked to a stop in front of Jazz. Blue optics paled in shock, tracing the coolant that slowly ran down Jazz's hood. With a sharp rev of her engine, Firestar knelt and took the femme from Jazz's arms, and Jazz did not fight it.

He'd already lost her when he'd first come into the room.

Another, green striped in brown, followed at a measured pace, pulling Inferno back. Jazz couldn't meet Razoredge's gaze. He didn't want his commander's sympathy. He didn't want to see the accusation.

Red Alert glanced at Razoredge, his optics slipping to the silent form of Red Magnum, before moving forward to clamp a hand on Jazz's shoulder.

Razoredge silently contemplated Jazz, the medic's furious chatter a hollow echo in Jazz's audio receptors. They might have removed her from his hands, but he couldn't bear to tear his gaze away. Hoping that she would twitch, gives some sign that she still functioned.

"What did you  _do?_ " Razoredge snapped, shock shorting his vocalizer.

The words finally spurred Jazz to his feet, and he stumbled toward his friend, wrenching away from Red Alert's hand. He grabbed at Razoredge, aware that every gun was on him. He left blue streaks across the green armor, fingers digging into seams to hold him up. Razoredge lifted a hand, frown never leaving his face.

"She lied t' m-" Jazz halted himself. He wanted Razoredge, Red Magnum, Red Alert,  _all of them_  to understand, but he had to force the words out of his vocalizer. "She  _lied_ t' us. She lied t' everyone." He slid to his knees, gaze dropping to the ground, shuddering in wracking sobs.

His brow ridge furrowed against his wishes as he let Red Alert pull him to his feet and away from Razoredge. "She lied to me," he tried again, his voice small, hating the way it sounded.

Razoredge frowned, finally turning to Red Magnum. The Commander didn't say anything, his mask hiding his expression. His chin tucked down, and looked around the small room. "He's your mech," the large mech said simply, turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

Razoredge vented a sigh, looking back down at Jazz. He blinked slowly, optics shifting as he thought.

"Jazz," he finally said, his words slow and carefully considered. "We'll let you know the results when Firestar has them."

"I don' care!" Jazz spat back. He knew the truth already. He'd shouldn't have stumbled upon that file, never meant to find that hack. The same one that had apparently alarmed the security officer. He glared at Razoredge, systems heated and his optics glitched in rage. "She's gone! She's dead!" he all but screamed at Razoredge, forcing the officer back a step, and as suddenly as it struck him, it vanished and he went limp. "What good is bein' told what I already know gonna do me?

The officer's frown deepened, and he tilted his head. "I understand. We'll give you some time first." He nodded at Red Alert, stepping over to kneel next to Firestar.

Red Alert looked the saboteur over, hand still on his shoulder. "If you come quietly, I won't cuff you."

"I don' care." What had he to care for anymore? Broken, his steps echoing in his audio receptors, he followed Red Alert's guiding hand through the crowd at the entrance.

He'd never felt so betrayed.

* * *

The energon bars of his cell reflected off his white plating, casting it into pink hues. His chronometer kept glitching as he allowed himself to be consumed by his overwhelming grief. Coolant still decorated his frame, the cloth offered by Red Alert discarded unused on the bunk next to him. He stared at his hands, the last remainder of a femme he'd given all he had to. Given everything and had it all dashed upon the streets before it had even started.

A shadow fell over him, but he didn't have to look up to see who it was.

"Jazz, could I talk to you?"

"Ain't ever stopped ya before, yer the officer after all," he forced out a soft chuckle to take the sting out of his words. Even in his despair he began assembling his mask.

The hum of the bars died, and Razoredge stepped in, not activating the cell again as he sat down next to Jazz. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, and Jazz felt the weight of his gaze.

"I wish you'd waited for backup."

Jazz tilted a scowl at Razoredge, but didn't say anything, his gaze never leaving his blue hands.

"As it is, we didn't have the opportunity to speak with her and clarify what might have been going through her spark." Razoredge paused, and Jazz detected the slightest shift in his commander's posture. Another few astroseconds and Razoredge sighed. "Firestar found an anomaly within her processor."

Jazz snorted, unsurprised by the mech's 'revelation'. Jazz had pieced that together without a processor scan.

"Twi-"

"I don' wanna hear her name," Jazz finally spoke, his voice cutting through Razoredge.

The spy paused again, his optics flickering. "Did you notice anything anything odd about her behavior?"

Jazz choked back a sob, scraping his hands up the crest of his helm. "Only now that I think 'bout it."

"Did she tell you anything before…" Razoredge hesitated, but continued as though he hadn't halted. "Beforehand?"

Jazz'z fists clenched on his , his vocalizer tight against another sob that threatened to rack his frame. Razoredge's systems hummed impatiently. "I'm going t' kill him."

Razoredge stiffened, leaning away from Jazz, power humming through his optics in alarm. "Who?"

"Y'said 'Star found an anomaly, righ'?"

The spy nodded and his mouth pinched tighter. "She wouldn't give up. Red Magnum had to step in and demand she reach a conclusion. But, yes."

He couldn't help but to wince "Then it was Discordance. That slagging Pit-scum planted th' ideas in her head and made her do it." Anything would be better than to think she did it on her own.

"She said that? She and Discordance talked?"

Jazz glared at the other, his engine growling with restrained fury. "I didn't give her a chance t' talk." He hunched in on himself, remembering the terror that had twisted through as that light-hued mech had dragged her away, and she'd come back unscathed, but shaken, her optics pale, though he couldn't find a cause. "We never talked about it. I thought they did th' same things t' both'a us."

"I see." Razoredge picked up the cloth, tossing a few times before handing it over to Jazz. "Due to extenuating circumstances, you're not going to be charged. Do you still need time?"

"She was contacting the Cons?"

Razoredge pressed his lips together, his mouth thinning wordlessly.

"No, think I'm good now." Jazz wiped up the worst of the coolant, before he shoved himself to his feet, stepping out into the too bright hallway.

Razoredge seized Jazz's arm, turning the saboteur toward him. "There is a condition to your release."

Jazz sat back on his heels, frowning at the blank look on the spy's face. "Yeah?"

"You are accompanying me to medbay and you are going to allow Firestar to deepscan you. I'll have Starsaber verify the results." The bright-eyed hardness on his face conveyed his determination that the order would be followed regardless of Jazz's own objections. Daring Jazz to object.

Jazz stared at Razoredge, stunned. "Do wha'? That ain't nec-"

Razoredge snapped his head toward Jazz, brow ridge dropped in a scowl, and Jazz realized, too late, that it was the wrong thing to say.

It suddenly struck him that he really wasn't the only one to take this betrayal personally. She had been entrusted with the medics' safety on the battlefield. And she had betrayed that. Betrayed the friends and lovers of those medics.

"I guess it is…" Jazz shuddered at green fingers tightening on his arm, shock draining into his systems that he would be suspected of being influenced by the Cons.

He let Razoredge pull him toward the medbay, his gears wrenching with the weighty emotions of betrayal and grief. Discordance's light-hued face hovered before his mind's eyes, red optics burning into his processor.

That damned Decepticon would pay for meddling in the mind of the femme Jazz loved.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

It had become almost customary for him to take up a position by the bar. It gave him a wide view of the whole of the rec room, and a central point for anyone to seek him out. He always sat there, looking out over the crowd with a fond sort of protectiveness, and even slight possessiveness, he normally reserved for his team. Each of the mechs in this room had come to depend on him as a confidante, and friend; one who was practiced at discretion and knew how to approach the much more reserved unit commander. He knew everyone's name, and they knew his, knew his face, knew his trust. He made it a point that none of the members of this unit were unfamiliar with him outside of the command offices.

Jazz did not know such a thing as an unfamiliar face and finding one in the midst of a crowd unsettled him.

Jazz first remembered seeing the red mech in the rec, during one of Frequency's loud victory bashes. His boisterous, yet easy, laughter rolled through the room, but from Jazz's position by the bar, he could see the pale optics that spoke of stress, pain. Fresh weld marks glinted in the strong lights of the rec room, revealing bared metal primed and waiting for a first layer of paint. He wondered that Ratchet allowed someone who was such distress out of the med bay. Though he couldn't see anything that would warrant such a drastic reaction. Did he sneak out of the med bay?

No, Ratchet would be hollering by now, or even during the breem that Jazz had contemplated this strange face.

He could see the latches for a rocket pack and a shoulder launcher. Didn't Bumblebee grumble about some arrogant red front liner disrupting his attempt to draw a bead on Megatron's new intelligence officer. Said he'd dropped out of the sky. Not many Autobots had rocket packs, even though there were quite a few who took the red of Primus as their paint jobs. ' _What did 'Bee say his name was, Sideways, or somethin'?'_

"Ya gotta problem, one eye?"

Jazz held himself still, despite having been thoroughly startled. ' _Yer losin yer touch there, Jazz._ ' He turned to the new arrival taking a sip from the high grade in his hand. The red rocketeer scowled at him, poised as though he were heading somewhere. But Jazz recognized all the signs of someone trying to pick a fight: the challenging stare, the tense joints, the hum of fingers as they clenched into a hard fist.

He waved his cube. "Nah, man. Ain't no problem." All appearances to the side, Jazz watched this mech like a turbohawk. He had all the pinnings of a fighter, sparked and built. His laughter hid a slowly simmering frustration that slipped to the fore in the absence of his friends. "Don't recognize yah, though." A black hand poked toward the red mech. "Name's Jazz. Didja come from Top Gear's unit?"

The pale optics stared from Jazz's visor to the extended hand. He crossed his arms over his chest, narrowing his optics at the grin Jazz offered. "No," he said simply, and strode off.

Jazz tucked his rejected limb back under his bumper. "Nice to meet ya, too," he muttered at himself, nodding at one of his team members making his way over to the bar.

Normally good-natured Bumblebee gave a hard glare at the red mech's back, confirming Jazz's suspicion that he was the one who had disrupted the minibot's shot. He dismissed Sides from his mind then. While it wasn't all that common for someone to brush Jazz off like that, it  _did_  happen often enough that he didn't mark it as anything spectacular.

It was his second meeting with the warrior that stood out the most in Jazz's mind.

He'd grown accustomed to a lot in his time with this mis-matched band. The odd pranks (a few of which he participated in, willingly or not), the occasional fights (though there were less now, with him stepping in as a mediator), Ratchet's temper (really, who hadn't gotten used to that by now?).

He  _wasn't_  used to stumbling over legs lying across the floor. Especially alarming as they were right across from med bay.

"Hey there, uh," Jazz broke off as he took in the pale optics and the unhappy frown. "Sides?" Narrowed optics confirmed that Jazz had at least that much of the name right. "D'ya need any help, man?"

The red mech pulled knees to his chest, drawing his feet closer to his body. "No."

Jazz glanced at the closed doors, hearing the muted sounds of repairs being made. "Well, you have t' forgive me fer not believin' ya."

"Would you just leave me the frag alone?" Sides was suddenly standing, and looming over the shorter black and white mech. His pale optics flashed, and his engine revved with lethal intent.

Jazz lifted a placating hand; not allowing his alarm at such an extreme reaction to show through. "Hey, can't I show concern for a fellow Autobot who looks t' be in pain?"

The red mech rocked back on his heels, surprised by Jazz's vehemence. "I… well..." He wiped a hand down his face. "I'm sorry." He paused, pale optics sweeping over the saboteur. "What did you say your name was again?"

Jazz grinned, sticking his hand out. "M'name's Jazz."

"Sideswipe." A smile tilted his handsome mouth as he clasped arms with the saboteur.

"Did y' come in with Top Gear's unit?"

His face darkened considerably, and Jazz worried that he was consistently hitting the wrong buttons with this mech. "No. We- my roommate and I, that is- were a part of Doldrum's command."

Jazz ran the name through his personal database. "I thought that unit was lost." He pulled up the correlating file, just as his new friend spoke up.

"All but two."

"So what're ya doin' here? Y' should be rechargin'." Jazz was steering the conversation back to where he wanted it.

"I… uh, well. I was worried about one of the mechs in there." Jazz tilted his head in disbelief. "Really! Little guy. Great shot, bad luck."

"Y' must be talking about Bluestreak." Jazz couldn't help the smile that crossed his face at the thought of the talkative youth.

"Yeah, him! You know him?" Confusion turned Sideswipe's mouth down.

"Oh yeah! Everyone here knows Bluestreak. Can't miss him. Course it doesn't help that he's Prowlie's protégé." Jazz glanced up at the red mech. "He was on loan to Top Gear until they put Scattershot back together. Nasty fall that guy had." Jazz glanced at the doors again. "Y' wanna get in and see him? Sounds like yer fond of the boy." Jazz smirked knowingly. "Lotta mechs'd be mad if ya hurt him."

Surprise widened Sideswipe's optics and he shook his head. "What? No! It's nothing like that! We're just friends." A chuckle rumbled from his tall frame. "Besides my –ah- roommate," Jazz frowned, not missing the warrior's hitch, "would disassemble me if I brought him to my berth. He, uh, talks too much." Nervous fingers rubbed at the jointed audio horns.

"Are y' sure y' don't need any help?" Jazz knew Ratchet would be fragged if he left someone out here who needed medical attention.

"Why do you keep asking that?"

"Yer optics, man."

Sideswipe brought his hands up to his face. "Oh," he murmured thoughtfully, like he'd forgotten a date or something minor rather than a sign of trauma. Then he shook his head in vehement refusal. "No! No, it's fine. It'll go away on its own."

His mouth dropped to a skeptical frown, and he looked up at the taller mech from beneath his helm, arms crossed under his bumper.

"Honest!"

Jazz contemplated the red mech a few more astroseconds before he sighed in defeat. "Well, y' can't sit here. Ratchet'll be mad if you send someone to his med bay cause they trip over ya." He took Sideswipe's elbow and led him down the hall.

Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder and he let out a despondent sigh, almost echoing Jazz's own sigh. "Yeah, okay."

The saboteur paused at one of many intersections inside Iacon. "Where's your quarters?"

"To the right and down a way. Look, I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm good from here."

Jazz pulled his mouth into a tight line as he regarded the red mech dubiously. "I dunno. I don't wanna leave ya, in case yer hurt."

"I won't be alone." Cool, pale optics returned Jazz's regard. "My roommate's there right now."

Jazz examined the black-crowned face for any hint subterfuge. "If y' say so."

He smiled, his optics not losing any of that cool regard. "I do, but thanks anyway."

Jazz watched the warrior walk away, admiring his backside as he went. He wondered how he would look with his rocket pack in place. Then he made a mental note to catch up with Sideswipe's roommate and make sure they were both settling in okay(and check up on Sideswipe's well-being while he was at it). What was his roommate's name?

Ah, there it was.

Sunstreaker.


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breem 8 mins, Cycle 1 hour, Joor 6 hours, Megacycle 93 hours, Orn 2 weeks (all of these are approximations).
> 
> I hope you all stick around for this little bit of mystery with Jazz, and see who figures it out what's going on first, you or him? (Though you all have a head start on Jazz at this point. -wink-) At least for Jazz this is looking to be a bit of a road to travel down.

 

" _Jazz, your presence is immediately required in the rec room._ "

Jazz spun about on his heel, walking back the way he'd come, but hanging a left out of the officer's quarters and toward the common area. All thoughts of a relaxing shower and soak disappeared under the resounding clangs of his hurried walk through the hall. " _Whassup, Prowl?_ "

An infuriated buzz filtered through the comm., and Jazz hastened into a near run. Not much could reduce Prowl to speechlessness. " _Ah, I'll see when I get there, I suppose,_ " he amended, turning another corner and shouting apologies to the pair of mechs he'd nearly mowed down.

" _Appreciated._ "

Jazz heard Prowl even before he saw the entrance to the rec room.

"-display of blatant immaturity and disregard for the laws set in place will not be tolerated again. If you're going to do  _nothing_  but stand around while your fellow Autobots are fighting each other than you will at the least be facing time in the brig if I'm feeling charitable-"

Jazz paused at the entrance, leaning his shoulder against the threshold a moment to take in the crowd gathered in front of Prowl. The other black and white mech stood with his doorwings flared, his fists clenched at his side as his presence loomed over the other mechs, most of whom at least stood a head over him. Prowl suddenly snapped about, blue optics flaring at Jazz's grinning face. "Jazz, if you would see your team member to the medbay, so I can handle this and then speak to the perpetrator." One doorwing snapped down, directing Jazz's attention toward the couches.

Mirage met Jazz's optics, and then tilted his head down to the yellow minibot seated on the couch. Jazz moved then, concerned at the way Bumblebee wavered in place.

"I want an incident report on my desk in two joors."

"Sure thing, Prowl." Jazz ignored the irritated sigh at his informality.

Bumblebee looked up at him, optics pale, and face tight with pain. Jazz crouched low, looking the banged-up frame over. "Who the slag roughed ya up, Bee?"

"Sunstreaker," Mirage supplied when Bumblebee only managed a pained moan; optics flashing as he gently probed the small mech's thigh.

A short laugh exploded from Bumblebee's vocalizer, cut short by another pained whine. Jazz watched Mirage's careful exploration of the leg, the subtle jerks as sparks flickered underneath the plating. "What'd he do?"

"Fragger stepped on me!"

Most would be shocked to hear Bumblebee use such language, or even spit the words out in such a venomous manner. While Jazz wasn't among those, it surprised him to hear him use it over a mech only recently joined. Bumblebee had spoken loud enough that Jazz could feel the gazes of several in Prowl's crowd on his back.

"Let's get ya t' Ratch. We'll talk on th' way. Raj, I know yer concerned, but ain't ya got somewhere ya need t' be?"

Mirage should have been gone several breem ago, as a matter of fact. He frowned but stood, fading out of sight in that single motion. "I will check on you when I return, 'Bee."

Bumblebee managed a chuckle and waved in the direction of the spy. "I'll be good as new by then, Raj. Be careful out there."

"Affirmative."

Jazz's sensitive audio receptors caught the soft shuffle of feet moving over the floor, little more than light disturbances easily overpowered by Prowl's lecture. Jazz scooped the minibot up, after checking to make sure the leg was the worst of the damage. "Whatchu do t' frag him off so badly."

"Ah, well, I wasn't exactly paying attention to where I was going and ran into him." He rubbed at his head, pale optics darkening in embarrassment.

"All this cause you bumped him?" Jazz waggled his fingers to indicate the scratched and dented frame.

Bumblebee gripped his knee, trying to hold the snapped strut still. "I tripped, actually. I think I accidentally cracked his windshield. He was yelling about that when he stomped on my leg."

Jazz slid another glance toward the crowd that Prowl still lectured, knowing that the commander could be there for an entire megacycle and still not have said enough.

"Why's Prowl fritzed at everyone else?"

Grunts interrupted his speech, despite Jazz's attempts to be gentle. "They didn't do anything... the whole time." Bumblebee ducked his chin down, not letting Jazz see his face. "Too surprised."

"Then who was fightin'?"

"Mirage." The minibot hunkered down in Jazz's arms a little more as mechs stepped to the side to let them by. "I guess. He was invisible til just 'fore you came."

Jazz revved his engine, humming as he considered whether he should tell Prowl of that. He knew Prowl to hold on to infractions like that until he could get his hands on the mech responsible. It wasn't holding a grudge; it was simply the way he was. Jazz decided to file that bit of information away, rather than letting Mirage get in trouble for stepping in as he should.

He didn't let them get away with everything, but he covered his small team where he could. His duties didn't permit him the time he'd otherwise like to spend with them, and it was one of the few gestures he could make to show he appreciated their service. Especially when, morally-speaking, he thought they did the right thing.

He made the proper notations on the file in his processor as he quizzed Bumblebee on just what had transpired. Jazz was not impressed. Sunstreaker sounded like a piece of work, attacking someone practically without provocation. He hoped that this was a one-time occurrence, brought on by the uncertainty of a new command.

The medbay doors slid open to Ratchet and Wheeljack in the middle of a conversation.

"-there's going to come a time when Prime's going to order it, I'm telling you Ratch, it's a thing of the past."

"How will we be able to help patients if they think they can't trust us? I really don't see Optimus doing away with patient confidentiality. We might be at war, but our mechs still have rights." Tools clinked down onto a tray as Ratchet sorted through his collection. He waved Jazz toward a berth already surrounded by a collection of equipment. "Put him down over there, Jazz."

"Prowl tell ya what happened, Ratch?"

Ratchet snapped a glare at Jazz. " _Don't_  call me that." He looked back to the cupboard, pulling down another tool. "Yes, he did. Not even out for two full cycles and that idiot's already causing trouble."

Jazz carefully set Bumblebee onto the berth, pausing as he processed Ratchet's words. "Two cycles? I thought he's been out for a megacycle at least."

Ratchet's vocalizer buzzed and he turned, picking the tray up and carrying it to Bumblebee's side. "You'd think I would slagging well know how long he was in my med bay, shouldn't I?" Ratchet leveled a glare at Jazz. "He was in deep stasis then, I only just had the chance to repair him."

Black hands eased the yellow minibot prone on the berth. "Didn't he get out round the same time as 'Swipe?"

"Swipe?" Wheeljack murmured, still fiddling with the instrument in front of him.

"Sideswipe wasn't nearly as badly damaged. I was getting the less serious out so I could deal with Sunstreaker." The scowl set on Ratchet's face revealed the seriousness of Sunstreaker's injuries. "You can leave, Jazz, your team member will function to fight another day. Shut down 'Bee."

Jazz squeezed Bumblebee's shoulder, giving the minibot a reassuring smile in spite of himself. "Was Sunshine online at all before 'Swipe left?"

Ratchet frowned at Jazz, bemused by the questions. "Would you bring someone online when they're missing a leg and their pelvic cradle is attached by a few wires?" Ratchet nodded toward the intensive care corner of the med bay. "He was lying over there since he came in with Top Gear."

Jazz's fingers rapped against his thigh and he pressed his lips into a mild frown. "Thanks Ratch." With that he turned and strode out of the medbay, heading for his private washracks. When Ratchet finished repairing Bumblebee, Jazz would finish questioning him for the requested report. He'd probably have to include punishment of some kind for the incident if Prowl was in a really foul mood(he hated assigning any of his mechs a punishment detail).

Two joor.

Then he would go speak to someone about being untruthful to  _him_.

* * *

Jazz sat at his normal seat by the bar, chatting with Crush over a cube of midgrade. He countered the architect's advice on one of their favorite games with tips of his own, laughing over the mistakes they both made in their last round.

Sideswipe sat in a corner, glaring at anyone that looked his way. Despite his unpleasant demeanor, Jazz was pleased to see that his optics had reverted to the normal Autobot blue rather than a disconcerting pale. He finished up his conversation with Crush, agreeing to meet after duty for a game of Bar None. Crush left, and Jazz requested a refill from the bartender.

The mechs around the room seemed to ignore the lone warrior indolently sipping from his cube. Jazz didn't hesitate to stride right up to Sideswipe and slam his own cube down on the table, shocking the warrior into looking at him.

The red mech's surprise quickly molded into a glare. "You aren't here to blame me for what that idiot Sunstreaker did, are you? 'Cause if you are, then you can walk right back over to your normal seat by the bar."

"Nah, man, y' ain't responsible for what Sunny does, any more 'n he is for what you do." Jazz tugged the cube Sideswipe had lifted to his lips down. "But y' are responsible fer yer own actions, an' I'm actually a little steamed that y' lied t' me." From the surprise on the mech's face, Jazz knew he didn't understand. "Yer roommate? He was in the med bay, when y' told me he was in yer room.

Narrowed optics regarded Jazz and a frown creased Sideswipe's face. "Suppose I didn't know?"

"It hadn't even been two joors since Ratchet released ya, an' Sunstreaker was still in  _intensive_  care. How could you not know?"

Sideswipe lifted the cube to his lips again, hiding whatever expression his face held, but his narrow optics gave some clue to what thoughts sparked along his pathways. He set the cube back down, his gaze still locked on Jazz. "I don't need you coddling me. I'm not a sparkling," he finally growled after a few moments of silence.

"Showin' concern ain't coddlin'," Jazz snapped. "Concerns whatcha show a friend." He took a drink from his cube, needing a moment to calm himself. "I'd like to think we're friends." Jazz stared at Sideswipe, waiting for the inevitable challenge to that statement.

Sideswipe peered at the black and white mech from under the edge of his helm and did not disappoint Jazz. "You barely know me, how can you call me 'friend?'"

"Well," Jazz rapped his fingertips on the tabletop, though he didn't need to even think that one over. He had a ready answer for just such a situation. "We're both Autobots, so that's a start. I mean if y' were really bad, y'd be a Decepticon, right?"

Sideswipe stared at him, unblinking for a whole breem. Then he suddenly burst out laughing, sliding down in his seat as he threw his head back with a hearty guffaw. Jazz frowned, trying to understand what was so amusing.

"'Swipe?"

"I'd be a Decepticon…" Sideswipe finally managed, vocalizer still bursting with laughter. "Oh, Jazz, that's too funny. Decepticons! Ah, Primus! I need to tell- ahahahahahaha!"

The saboteur continued his bemused regard of the red mech. "Am I missin' somethin'?"

Sideswipe looked at Jazz, only to start another round of raucous laughter. At last he managed to calm down enough to be intelligible. "It's just that everyone has always told us-me that w-I belong in the Decepticons. Just ask Prowl." He chortled again, taking a sip from his cube.

"Y'keep sayin' 'we' an' 'us', who else're ya talkin' about?"

"Uh… my-uh- roommate, Sunstreaker."

Jazz pinched his mouth down to keep from frowning. "Ain't that funny. Now, I haven't met the mech, he keeps a lot to himself," not to mention that he'd only been out and about for one joor out of the seventeen he'd been on the base, "but it seems to me that dear ole Sunshine's a tad more Decepticon-inclined." The black and white mech set his cube down. "What d' ya think?"

A grin showed past the nearly empty cube that hid Sideswipe's lips. "I think if he hears you call him that, he'll beat the circuits outta ya."

"See? That's exactly what I mean. No Autobot would do that." Jazz nodded toward the smallest member of his team. "I mean, look what he did t' 'Bee, for what? Scratching his paint?" Well, maybe a little more than a scratch, but the point remained.

Sideswipe stood, his optics dim, his expression thunderous. "Shows what you know." His long stride had almost carried him to the entrance before Jazz had realized what had happened. The remaining mechs watched the red mech storm out of the rec room, glancing toward Jazz in surprise.

Somehow he'd offended the red mech and Jazz didn't quite know how, or why.

What the slag?

He stood, downing the last of his energon and disposed of the cube with a surge of energy. He ignored the other mechs, intent on Sideswipe as he strode out of the rec room after the warrior. A quick check with Teletraan revealed that Sideswipe was in the training room (how'd he get there so fast?) and so Jazz hurried in that direction.

There was something going on with that red mech, and Jazz was determined to find out what. He hadn't seen such a tightly held secret since Mirage had first been dragged in. It had taken the saboteur a good twenty orns to pry anything out of the mech. And a whole vorn to convince him that no one was going to judge him for his past. The neutrals and pseudo-Autobots had done a number on any mech that used to hold any amount of status or wealth. It was usually a bit of a shock for any of that unlucky lot to then ally themselves with a  _true_  Autobot unit.

Mirage now played an active role in uncovering any of those pretenders and revealing them for the liars that they were and helping any who'd fallen into their snare back on their figurative feet.

Some of these pseudo-groups mutineed over their worthless leader(s) and officially joined the ranks of the Autobots. There were unconfirmed reports that these units still practiced things not tolerated under Autobot law.

Doldrum had been one suspect commander.

Jazz approached the training room, pressing the controls to open the door. A flash of gold turned a corner down the hall, but it wasn't red so Jazz ignored it.

The door whooshed open, releasing a cacophony of metal striking metal and the screaming of laser fire. Jazz stepped through the doorway, letting them shut behind him. His gaze swept the room, pausing each time he spotted red paint. No rocket packs, however.

Sideswipe wasn't here.

Odd.

Jazz patched into Teletraan again, requesting a locater beacon for Sideswipe.

:No Reading Within Sensor Limits:

Which meant Sideswipe had either picked up a cloaking device that rivaled Mirage's (unlikely) or he'd left the base for the nearby civilian encampment.

How was this mech moving so fast?


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shall we say this is before Sideswipe has received his piledriver upgrade? ;)

 

Jazz sauntered toward the medbay, in no rush as he knew Prowl was still finishing up last minute paper work. The doors to Ratchet's domain loomed and suddenly snapped open just as Jazz's sensors detected an echo through the metal. Sideswipe ducked out, as though pursued by ravenous tinturkeys, or perhaps tools being thrown at his head. Or tinturkeys painted white and red with notoriously accurate throwing arms. Jazz narrowly avoided being mowed over by the red mech.

"Whoa there Siders, we need t' stop runnin' inta each other like this." Jazz steadied the red mech, grinning up at the mech's surprised face. He caught a glimpse of red and white

Sideswipe grinned back. 'Well, sorry, but anyone would want to run into this glorious body. That  _is_  why I'm called 'Sideswipe' you know." He smile broadened and he winked at Jazz.

Jazz laughed. "Someone's got an ego."

Sideswipe tilted his head in a small shrug, his grin diminishing slightly though his optics still shone brightly. "I've had lots of practice."

"Whatcha gettin' kicked outta medbay for?" Jazz paused, processing that a moment. "Why're ya even in medbay?"

"Routine stuff. Ratchet hadn't had the chance to pull my medical records yet, so he hollered at me to come down. Then he suddenly kicked me out." The warrior's face scrunched up, apparently not appreciating Ratchet's method of removal. "I have no idea why. Thought I heard the door open, but…" He shrugged a shoulder. He glanced down at Jazz suddenly. "So why're you here?"

"Got some stuff t' deal with." Jazz backed away, giving the mech a critical look and changing the subject to something less classified. "Where'd ya disappear to last shift change?"

Sideswipe's optics dimmed with embarrassment. "Ah, I went down to the city." He rubbed at his audio horns looking down at the floor. He grimaced, glancing at Jazz out of the corner of his optics. "Sorry about running out on you like that."

Jazz waved it off, though he hoped in time the young mech would trust him enough to talk on his own. "Touchy subject. I can get that. Ya gotta show me how ya disappeared like that sometime, though."

"Disap-?" It was Sideswipe's turn to give Jazz a critical stare. "What'd you do? Hack into the tracking system?" His mischevious grin accompanied the light tease in his tone.

Jazz grinned back. "Nah, why'd I need to do that?"

"Sideswipe don't you have duties to attend to?"

Sideswipe spun about, optics widening upon seeing the unit commander. Prowl stood at the end of the corrider, doorwings idly flicking in spite of his stern expression. He tilted his head, waiting patiently.

Sideswipe straightened, optics dimming. "Yes, sir." The red mech gave Jazz a sympathetic look. "Talk to you later, I hope, Jazz." He flashed a smile before turning down the corridor.

"I'll be around, Swipe."

Prowl approached Jazz, his optics still on the red mech. "Hmm..."

"What 'hmm'?"

"Hmm, I think you have accepted another challenge." Prowl paused by Jazz, glancing down the hall and standing in silence until Sideswipe turned the corner.

Jazz cringed, only to smooth his face when Prowl looked his way. Prowl had more on his processor than Jazz's social habits.

"Jazz, I appreciate that you're willing to look out for your team members, but I would also appreciate being told when they're involved in an altercation with another member of my unit."

"Aw, snap, ya figured that out?"

Prowl turned an amused frown on the executive officer. "It was not hard to deduce the cause of Sunstreaker's sudden dents and scratches when he could not see an assailant."

Jazz snickered, then sombered as Prowl keyed a code into the door's control panel. "Does Sunshine know?"

Prowl tilted a look at Jazz. "I believe I have dealt with enough altercations in the past few megacycles."

The door slid open, the lights in the control panel fading from green to red and they stepped through the threshold and into Ratchet's domain. Prowl flicked his doorwings at Ratchet in greeting as he led Jazz toward one of the private rooms in the back.

"You will also find a pile of reports that need your attention in your office when we're done here."

Jazz sputtered, freezing midstep to stare at Prowl, jaw hanging loose. "Whatever for?"

Prowl only paused a moment as he keyed in his override for the private room, tossing a tight-lipped smile over his shoulder. "Certainly if you're willing to cover for you team members, you can also cover their punishment detail."

Jazz covered his face, groaning at the thought of sitting still staring at stupid slagging reports for Primus-knew-how-long.

Thoughts of Sideswipe's unusual ability disappeared faced with a joor of relentless datawork and Mirage sitting in the room before them, waiting to be debriefed.

* * *

Somewhere in the distance he could make out the whistle of missiles being loosed. Even half a mile away, the explosions rocked the building he was slowly climbing. Occasionally the roar of engines gave him enough warning to freeze and hope Wheeljack's field dampener worked. He could have taken the access ladders, but that way was probably watched. Too many mechs entered and left the building's entrances to trust getting in that way. That left plan C.

Jazz had done this too many times to count. Decepticons create a new super weapon. The Autobots find out about it. Jazz was sent to disable it.

It was almost like clockwork.

This time however something was making Jazz feel ill at ease. He'd felt that way since he'd last seen Prowl after Bumblebee had returned from his part in the operation. The tactician hadn't wanted to listen to 'base programming;' if it couldn't be quantified, he paid it no heed.

The saboteur pulled himself onto the roof of the building. He crouched, not daring to belly crawl along the abrasive stone. The shadows were his allies, and he thanked the will of Primus that the Decepticons stupidly hadn't learned about open spaces.

He maneuvered around the guards; stalking their shadows as he moved from vent to massive antennae to the power relays.

The massive cylinder that was supposed to be the 'Con's new toy stood out amidst the more rectangular objects on the roof. Light painted the cannon a silver that shimmered with power.

He approached it, doing his level best to ignore the uncertainty twitching at his limbs.  _'It's just mission jitters_ ,' he told himself.

Except that he hadn't suffered from mission jitters since his first hundred vorns on the job.

He slipped around the final obstacle, and came face to muzzle with the wrong end of an arm canon.

"Looks like Soundwave was right. We do have a visitor."

Jazz clicked his mouth close, his gaze sliding up the barrel of the gun to the black and purple Seeker wielding it.

"Looking for something, Autobot?" Red optics burned brightly down at the saboteur.

Black fingers scraped over the stone roof, drawing the gaze of Skywarp.

Stupid, arrogant Decepticon.

The saboteur flung his arm up, knocking the arm cannon away. He pulled a handful of flash grenades out of subspace and tossed them at the seeker.

The grenades went off; an explosion of white light. Skywarp covered his optics, wailing as the flash blinded him.

Jazz's visor protected his optics, having already darkened to filter out the coming light. He lunged forward, knocking the Decepticon to the ground. He still had a job to do. All attempts at concealment abandoned; he made a dash for the cylindrical roof canon.

A golden turbohawk swept down, raucous cry splitting the silence. Laser fire pelted Jazz's back, burning his light armor. The field dampener overloaded, and exploded, sending sparks shooting out from under Jazz's bumper. He staggered, catching himself on the barrel of the canon.

His hand jerked away, as though burned. No canon that's about to rain death and destruction on a battlefield would be  _that_  cold.

Aw, fraggit!

" _It's a trap!_ "

He could only hope that his transmission reached its destination. The dead static he received was not reassuring. Neither were the engines droning above him.

He had only an astrosecond's warning to leap away from the decoy before missiles struck where he'd been standing.

The black and purple Seeker jumped up and transformed, calling to the black and blue jet that had shot the rockets.

Jazz hissed out of his vents, dashing across the roof and dodging the Seeker's strafing run. He twisted and leapt and turned, crashing into obstacles scattered across the roof in his effort to dodge the laserfire. Still he knew they were achieving their goal.

They had him trapped on the roof and weren't letting him anywhere near the edges.

The rooftop shook with a distant explosion, and even from here Jazz could see the light of the blast. His fuel tank swirled as he watched the area that his comrades had been in light up like a Supreme's headlamp.

The sound of engines roared from a few streets down and drew Jazz's attention. The golden turbohawk swooped down again, extending claws that raked at his face. He threw his arm up, batting at the crazy machine as it came at him again and again.

"Get away from me ya crazy bird!"

"Autobot: desist."

Jazz froze, his circuits fusing in cold fear as that voice rolled over him.

He didn't know the owner of the voice. He'd never met Megatron's new intelligence officer.

However the cold fuel in his tank, and the sensation of glitch mice crawling over his canopy told him that here was a Decepticon telepath, a powerful one. It had been a long, long time since Jazz had last encountered a Decepticon telepath.

It had cost him his team, and given him the promotion to the head of the Special Ops unit. He slagging  _hated_  telepaths with a passion he normally only found for music.

He made sure to process that a second time. ' _The last time I met one of ya, I turned him into a shredded piece of art._ '

"History: irrelevant. Surrender: expected."

Thoughts of the gray sky before dawn running through his processor, he slapped a few shrapnel grenades from subspace. He turned, his concentration on the turbohawk floating down to the waiting blue arm. On the growing whine of encroaching engines.

"Block: remove. Mind: open."

"I'll never open up t' ya fragging Deceptislag!" His arm swung in an arc.

"Surrender: demanded."

Jazz released the grenades, launching himself the other way. "Surrender this!"

The grenades exploded thirty astroseconds after he released and activated them. Shrapnel rained down in tiny needles that found their way into his armor. They cut through circuitry and interrupted data flow. Sensors ceased functioning throughout his legs and he hastily redirected the command lines through other circuits. The last thing he wanted was to be paralyzed in easy reach of that Decepticon.

A roar rumbled through the building and for a moment he thought it was the aftershock, which meant the blast was larger than it had appeared. Which meant that his friends, his comrades...

He had thought it was jet engines, that never-ceasing whine.

"Get your aft over here, Jazz! I don't have much juice!" Laserfire pelted down from the sky, striking around the Decepticon telepath.

Jazz looked up and saw a blur of red in the midst of the smoke and dust. "Sideswipe?" He tilted his head, attention briefly diverted by a soft sound that sent shivers through his frame.

"One and only! Prowl's calling a retreat, the Cons apparently moved that nice cannon you were supposed to be after." The red and black mech dropped to the rooftop, staggering as the building shifted under his weight. Dents pockmarked his armor, so deep that the metal tore.

Jazz grabbed the mech's white upper arm, trying to find a place that wasn't burnt or missing a panel. "We can't go."

Blue optics stared down at him in surprise. "What the frag are you talking about? We can't stay. This place's coming down."

"Don't you hear it?" Even though he'd only recently recognized it himself, he knew they couldn't leave. "There's screamin' down there. We can't go."

The red mech fired another round at the Decepticon, jerking his arm out of Jazz's grasp in a single smooth motion. "Frag that. I ain't stayin'."

"They're civilians, we gotta help them." Jazz grabbed the red mech's wrist, wrenching the warrior back around.

"You can help them. I didn't sign up to help civvies."

Jazz's grip tightened, preventing the larger mech from freeing his arm. "Yer an Autobot!"

Optics blazing, Sideswipe yanked his hand away again. "Yeah, I'm an Autobot. One who plans on making it back to camp in one piece."

Jazz shook his head once, watching the Decepticon fly away with a damaged turbohawk. He could feel the telepath's withdrawal like the disengaging of a program. But he had no time to relax. He grabbed the red mech again, yanking him around to shove a finger against the insignia stickered to his chest plate. "Do ya see that red face? That means we go help those civilians. Now, come on before this building topples."

Sideswipe glowered but followed Jazz rappelling down the side of the building with his own rocket pack. The saboteur swung through a window, moving aside to let the warrior slide in behind him.

"Alright, so where's it coming from?" Sideswipe glared around the empty room that had only recently been teeming with Decepticons.

Jazz paused to listen, tilting his head to catch every sound. He pulled on the hatch attached to the warrior's shoulder, guiding the red mech down a series of stairwells, since he didn't trust the lifts to be in working order. He followed the sounds to a small doubleset doorway.

The saboteur pressed his shoulder to the door, listening to the sudden quiet. Above the groans of the building, he made out the soft scrape of shifting bodies. He rapped the door with his knuckles, wincing as the building moaned and shifted again. "Hey, anybody in there?"

The buzz of communication passed through the door; trembling through his fingers and lighting sensors designed to pick up transmissions on nearly any frequency. Even without understanding the words that were being spoken, he recognized the patterns of an argument.

"Hey! This buildin's comin' down. Are ya in there or not?"

Fists suddenly began pounding on the closed door. Screams and cries for help rattled his audio sensors. Jazz jerked away from the door and his gaze swept over to the control pad.

The panel hung free, cold wires sticking out every which way. Sideswipe stepped aside as the officer brushed past him to pull out more wires as he tried to hack the door controls. He worked swiftly, and still the building shuddered, intensifying the rate of poundings and screams.

He felt Sideswipe's calculating regard on his canopy until a third groan came from the building.  
The warrior's feet suddenly pounded on the floor and he flung himself at the doors.

"What are ya doin', man? Are ya crazy?" Jazz didn't tear his gaze away from the wires in his hand as he yelled at Sideswipe. The larger mech bounced off the door and ran a few steps back. He charged again. "This buildings about to collapse, and yer bouncin' around like it's a carnival or somethin'!"

"We don't have time for you to -unh," he grunted as he slammed into the door a third time, "hack dead lines."

"That's trilythium steel, ya can't just bust it down like that." Jazz winced as he heard something give, hoping it was from the door and not the red mech.

Sideswipe staggered back, shaking the impact off for another rush at the immobile door. "Then a little help, if you don't mind, Jazz." He went back a little further this time, and charged the door, amazingly spry for someone who looked like he'd run headfirst into Prime. At full speed.

Jazz threw himself forward, pushing off the wall to give weight to his lunge. They impacted on the steel door together, and Jazz knew he'd damaged something. The groan from the red mech told him that the warrior had also injured himself. Still, Sideswipe slammed his hands onto the door, prying at a small crevice, and Jazz dug his own fingers in. Together they pulled on a door, until they had mechs and femmes pouring out of the other room.

The original residents of the building huddled together, optics flaring in distress. The last one, and obvious leader of the hostages, pulled a damaged mech along, arm slung over his shoulder. He limped under the weight of the other mech,but spared a nod toward Jazz and Sideswipe.

"Thank you! We didn't think we'd make it out of there."

Jazz pressed his lips together, but managed a reassuring smile for the frightened civilians. "This is what we do. Ain't no problem."

The half-conscious green and yellow mech staggered along, his optics dim. Laser burns riddled his torso, and it was apparent to Jazz that this one was used as an example, and as he glanced into the room for any other survivors, he saw cold corpses inside, their bodies burnt, broken. Examples who hadn't lived. In comparison Sideswipe looked worse off, but he was built for the punishment and he had the armor for it.

Sideswipe, his optics dim and narrowed, braced himself on an arm against the door. "I'll take that one, you're damaged yourself." He pushed himself off of his support and took the damaged mech from the neutral.

Jazz paused, frown on his face as he noticed the warrior's pale optics. "'Swipe?" He looked the warrior's shoulder over, noting the awkward angle of the arm, and the new dent in mag plate.

It shouldn't have been enough to cause such a reaction though.

Sideswipe glared at Jazz, apparently deducing the reason for the officer's concern. "It's nothing. Let's get out of here." As if on cue the building trembled again, listing to one side.

Everyone froze, waiting for the building to settle. Then they rushed down the stairs. Jazz tried to recall how high up they were. He hadn't exactly been of a mind to count the floors he passed when he ascended the building. Every time the building moaned and shifted they froze until it stopped and then they ran again. Jazz looked out the windows unable to see any other building close enough to throw a line at on the northern and western sides and still expect everyone to make it across in a timely manner.

Much sooner than the last time, the building groaned again.

He looked at all the survivors. They didn't have time to follow the stairways down, they had to grapple across. The southern side of the building faced the street. It had to be the eastern or the northern side, regardless of distance.

The groaning continued.

It decided Jazz.

The complex shifted under his feet as he ran for a northern window, smashing it open with the butt of his gun. He hoped that it wasn't also the direction the building they were in would fall He exchanged his hand for the grappling hook, firing it at the ledge of a window on the next building over. He reeled the line in, until it jolted taut.

Jazz turned to the de facto leader of the survivors. "You guys've gotta cross now!" Blank optics stared at him, then turned to the neighboring buliding. "I know it's a long climb, but we don' have no choice. Tell yer people to move!"

The nameless neutral froze only for an astrosecond more before he ushered the first forward, a light-framed minibot and helped him onto Jazz's line.

One after another, with just enough space to keep from breaking the line, or pulling Jazz (and Sideswipe, who braced him) down, the survivors made their way to the other building. The damaged mech went across with one of the others, and the bots who waited added their weight to Jazz and Sideswipe's anchor. The building continued it's slow, moaning lean, forcing Jazz to adjust the line.

The two Autobots dug their feet in, gouging the floor with the edges of their toe joints, taking on the weight of an extra mech to expedite the evacuation. Sideswipe's pale optics flickered with pain, his ventilator hissing with the effort of cooling his overworked systems, but his grip remained tight around Jazz's chassis.

"Making sure the Autobots keep their good name?" Sideswipe suddenly grunted, scowl on his face as he carefully shifted his fingers.

"What?"

"Playing the hero? Keeping up the face? Whatever you want to call it, that why you're doing this?" The warrior didn't even look at Jazz as he spoke, concentrating on keeping them from sliding forward as the next mech, a heavy carrier mode by all appearances, took his place on the line.

"The slag is your problem, Sides?" Jazz ground his dental plates, vocalizer fritzing with power surges. "This is what Autobots  _do_."

The structure gave a sudden lurch, and Sideswipe widened his stance, taking more of the weight from Jazz. "Sure," the word spat out of his vocalizer with all of the distaste he couldn't put in his expression.

"Ain't the time nor th' place, Sides." The last of the survivors went out the window, and Jazz watched his inexorably slow crawl to the other building.

"Of course," the warrior buzzed.

Jazz spared Sideswipe a glance as the mech reached the midway point.

One final groan grated out of the building, and the floor didn't stop moving.

Sideswipe grabbed at Jazz as they were both jerked off their feet. The line lurched, jumping erratically as the structure began it's fall. Jazz played his line, trying to keep it steady for the mech to finish crossing.

"Reel us in," Sideswipe shouted, gathering Jazz into his arms. The rocket on his back roared to life, launching them both out of the moving window. Jazz pulled in the line as fast as he could, other arm wrapped around Sideswipe's neck.

The other window disappeared from sight, and Jazz watched their windowframe pull the line. He hoped the mech made it safely. Sideswipe tucked his chin down, hurtling forward. He misjudged, striking the side of the window. Metal scraped and banged against concrete, as the warrior plowed through, sending down a shower of powder and chunks.

Sideswipe spun out of control for a brief astrosecond. It was all that was needed for him to slam into the neighboring building and knock his pack offline for another brief astrosecond.

Jazz's vision fritzed from the force of the impact, and the world shook from the collapse of the other building. When it cleared, the mech on his line was no longer there, and they were falling, systems whirring to compensate for the loss of gravity. He braced his arm, watching the line snake down until it suddenly snapped tight, wrenching his shoulder and elbow. Something snapped and Jazz screamed, clutching Sideswipe's reeling form as they swung, the ground still an unsafe distance away. He had no control over their descent, unable to see past the billowing dust and smoke. They slammed into the wall, bouncing off it and spinning erratically. Back, elbows, knees, they kept hitting the wall, sharing the impacts. Jazz could no longer tell whether they were going left or right, swinging up, or down.

Sideswipe's optics onlined briefly, only to darken again as he wrapped his arms and legs tightly around the saboteur's body. Jazz couldn't move with the warrior twined about him, but he couldn't get his vocalizer to work either. It was too busy buzzing with groans and static. It felt like every part of him that didn't have a Toughline attached to it ached with dents, and scratches, or tears. With Sideswipe dragging at his shoulders and waist, he managed to free an arm. Every time they hit the building Jazz grabbed for a hold, trying to stop their erratic swinging.

When Sideswipe joined him in grabbing at the wall, they finally managed to stop themselves. The world still spun about him as his equilibrium sensors attempted to adjust to their stillness. No longer moving, and without the power surges from the excitement, the warrior's weight was painful on his arm. His shoulders and back burned from exposed circuitry. Yet all he could do was hang there, cooling his systems with gulps of the clogged air.

"Can you pull us up?" Sideswipe groaned, forehead pressed against the building.

Jazz needed a few more moments to calibrate his systems before he tried to reel the line in. He couldn't get a response from that system. He banged his head back into the building, glaring up at the hazy sky. "No."

The warrior lifted his head, dust covering his face and blinking to wipe his optics clear. "I think our friends left." Sideswipe tightened his arms, and let go with his legs. He braced his feet on the building and slowly walked them toward a window. Jazz felt every movement as it pulled and jarred his arm. Even though the warrior still clung to the black and white mech, Jazz felt like Sideswipe was the only reason he wasn't falling.

The warrior peered cautiously into the window, and then stood on top of it and together they smashed through. Sideswipe climbed in first, never letting go of Jazz. He held the saboteur's knees to keep him from swinging away while they both puzzled over the taut line still attached some distance up.

"I'm gonna have to cut it. I still ain't gettin' a response."

Sideswipe leaned out of the window even further, working his grip up Jazz's leg and working his fingers into the black waist. "I've got you."

An energon blade appeared in the saboteur's hand, and he reached up to saw at the line. The blade glowed a dull pink through the clouded sky, and Jazz felt like he couldn't clear his ventilators of the permeating dust. The line slowly gave, and Sideswipe tightened his grip, metal bending under his fingers. Sideswipe gave a mighty tug just as Jazz sliced through the last of the metal cabling, yanking them into the building. They spilled across the floor in a messy sprawl, with Jazz landing on top of the warrior.

They lay there for a long breem, both huffing dusty puffs from their ventilators. The saboteur finally shoved himself off of Sideswipe with his good arm, rolling to his back. Trembles racked his servos, drained from the sudden lack of power surges.

"Whooo-ee, that was almost as fun as Jet Judo!" A groan rumbled from the mech's engine, despite his soft chuckle. "Can we do that again sometime, Jazz?"

Jazz slogged his way through Sideswipe's far too exuberant words. "Jet- wha?"

"Jet- oh never mind." Another groan sounded from Sideswipe. "I don't think I wanna move anytime soon."

"I'm there wit' ya." Jazz frowned contemplatively. "I sure wish I knew whether they grabbed that last one or not, though. I'd hate t' think of what could'a happened if they hadn't."

Metal scraped as Sideswipe shifted to angle a harsh stare at the saboteur, his helmet as scratched as the rest of him."You don't have to keep the face up with me, Jazz."

Jazz lifted his head to blink in surprise at the Toughline "Don't have t' what?"

The warrior glared at the ceiling. "The face. You don't have to keep it up with me. It's okay. I don't really care what happened to the slaggers either." A frown pinched the corners of his lips down. "I don't really care about what happens to anyone." His pale optics turned back to Jazz. "And if you don't either, then you shouldn't have to pretend."

Jazz rolled to his side, off of the exposed and sensitive sensors on his canopy. His processor whirled as he tried to puzzle out the red mech's meaning. "Yer talkin' crazy. It ain't a face, 'Swipe. I do care." The look on Sideswipe's face sent an eerie chill through his spark, as though the warrior didn't believe him, or maybe even was incapable of comprehending that kind of compassion.

What had Doldrum's unit done to this young mech?

" _Prowl to Jazz, do you read me?_ " Jazz's internal communicator chirped to life with the tactician's calm-as-always voice.

He activated his side of the communication, putting it on speaker and talking aloud for the warrior's benefit. "S'up?"

A small sound of annoyance rumbled through the speakers. " _Jazz, we are not the only officers on this channel, would you at least_ attempt _to sound professional?_ "

He caught the widening of the warrior's optics, and the movement of his lips as Sideswipe mouthed the word 'officers' in surprise.

"Prime says he don't care, an' Ratch ain't any better."

Prowl made a sound of electronic exasperation." _Is Sideswipe with you?_ " The expectant tone let Jazz know that Prowl already knew the answer, but was asking out of courtesy.

"Yeah, I'm here," Sideswipe said without much enthusiasm.

" _Good. Jazz can you meet us at rendesvous point 25?_ "

Jazz checked his diagnostic readings, his arm laying unresponsive at his side. "It'll be a long walk fer me."

A pause as Prowl considered that, almost unnoticeable except by those who knew him. " _Does Sideswipe not know basic repair?_

A groan preceded the warrior's words as he pushed himself up. "I know it."

" _Do what you can for Jazz._ " Prowl's tone of voice broached no argument from the red mech. " _Jazz, if you are still unable to make it here in haste, radio in and I will send someone to pick you up._ " He wasn't that much more lenient on the saboteur either. The line hissed as Prowl closed his side of the communication.

Sideswipe was quiet as he dragged himself to his knees. "He would have left those bots."

Jazz watched the mech crawl over to him, favoring his damaged arm and wincing as his legs dragged along the ground. "Who? Prowl?" He drew closer, letting Jazz see the long scratches over what remained of his paint Jazz suspected that he had a very Sleektilt shape to his paint now

A med kit appeared in the warrior's hand and he popped the lid on it, setting it down next to the saboteur. "Yeah. Perfect example of Autobot caring. Didn't even ask if we were okay."

Jazz composed his face as the warrior began working on his damaged arm, sending tendrils of pain throughout receptors he couldn't turn off. "Well, look at it from his point of view." His vocalizer caught and hissed, buzzing with grunts and groans as he tried to ignore what Sideswipe was doing to his arm. "We answer, ergo we're functioning. We can reach the rendezvous point, ergo we're not heavily damaged. It's illogical to ask a question he... hnn..." Jazz had to stop as Sideswipe hit a sensor node in his elbow. "What're ya doin', man?" he hissed.

"Sorry," Sideswipe didn't stop tugging at Jazz's arm as he spoke, "I'm trying to get your joint back together."

"Shouldn't you leave that to a medic?"

Sideswipe waved off the suggestion. "I've got it. You were saying."

Jazz had to search his memory for a moment before he recalled. "It's illogical to ask a question he can extrapolate an answer to. He cares, he just ain't that good at showin' it."

Primus knows he'd had a conniption when he'd first heard of Prowl doing that to one of his team members. Then Prowl had the gall to visit Mirage in the med bay to receive the report personally. Until Ironhide and Ratchet had explained the reason behind it, and how it tied into Prowl's cold-sparked success as a tactician. Unhappily this had been after he had already given Prowl holy hell over the matter several joors before.

It had been a very apologetic Jazz that approached the tactician later in the megacycle. Prowl had listened to Jazz's apology with his normal stern expression. He then told Jazz that if the saboteur wanted to make it up, he could start by cleaning section 82 for insubordination to a ranking officer.

Jazz had been puzzling just how he could fit that into his schedule when he was hit by a realization. Ankmor, for whatever insane reason, had section 81 and 83, somehow or another 82 had been misplaced or mislabeled. He'd stormed back into Prowl's office and told the tactician that if he wanted section 82 cleaned, then he could damned well clean it himself. After which he stormed back out, but not before he saw the slight tilt of Prowl's mouth.

"Turn over, let me see your canopy."

Sideswipe's voice brought Jazz back from his recollection. Pain still radiated from his arm, but he could finally turn off the receptors in that area, and flex his hands. "Nah, 'Swipe. I'm good to go. Let's get goin' 'fore Prowl leaves us." Jazz rolled to his feet, ignoring the aches and objections from his body. He looked over Sideswipe's dented and scraped form, taking in the all too pale optics. "Will you be okay until we get back to base camp?"

Sideswipe huffed, rising to his feet, though he moved with the care of one who was more damaged than he let on. "I'll be fine. How many times do I have to say it?"

"Ok. Far be it from me for keeping Hatchet from yellin' at ya." Jazz glanced out the window. "How likely would it be for ya rocket pack to be in workin' order."

Sideswipe didn't even hesitate with a diagnostic. "Not at all. There's a leak in it, and I'm not turning it back on til that's fixed."

"Guess we gotta find some stairs then."

"Lead the way,  _sir._ "

Jazz paused to look at the warrior, surprised at the anger that seemed to snap out with that last word. Sideswipe regarded him with his normal cool, neutrality, giving no indication to his meaning.

The saboteur finally turned, searching his databanks for the layout of all the buildings near his target. He was certain he had them in case he needed to improvise his plan on the spot. He had just never expected to have to use one as an evacuation route.


	5. Chapter 4

Hastily erected structures spoke of just how suddenly the Autobots had been forced to retreat. The tarp-covered entrances didn't only serve as a sensor shield, but stood as the only markers of what building led to which unit and task force. The meaning of the markers changed every metacycle in an effort to make it more difficult an infiltrator to locate any specific target. Jazz led the way through the neatly disarrayed piles of supplies, scattered throughout the streets. He was careful not to touch any of them, the supply officers often laid booby-traps in the midst of a pile, and only they knew how to disarm it.

Sideswipe veered off to one side, squeezing into an alleyway and transforming. He stumbled as he straightened, catching himself on a nearby wall.

Jazz snapped to his feet, crossing the few steps between them and steadying the warrior. "Dude, where're you going?"

Sideswipe swayed unsteadily, his pale optics flickering as he tried to move away from the saboteur. "Somewhere to lie down until Cybertron stops spinning."

The saboteur tugged him away from the piles of supplies and leaned the warrior against a building. "Why didn't ya say somethin' if y' were damaged that badly!"

"Wouldn't have done much good if I had," he groaned, leaning his head back. "Besides, not much can be done about it, except to wait for it to get better." Sideswipe shoved himself off the wall, flinching as he straightened. "Which is exactly what I'm about to do."

"Oh, no ya don't!" Jazz stopped him, clenching wires within the red and black mech's elbow joint. "You are goin' to see Ratchet. Does he know about yer little," Jazz paused searching for the right word, "glitch?"

Sideswipe glared down at Jazz's hand, a pinched frown on his face. His pale optics shuttered for a moment and he relaxed his arm. "Yeah. He knows there's nothing to be done about it."

Jazz grinned as he pulled the larger mech back onto the main causeway. "Betcha that made him fritz."

A grin crooked Sideswipe's mouth. "To say the least." He looked around the camp as Jazz moved them back into the main causeway. "How do you know where you're going, anyway?"

"Yer supposed to be directed to wherever yer needed by yer squad leader. You are goin' to the med bay. After pingin' off that buildin', that's our first stop." Jazz tilted his head to frown at the obstinate warrior. "After Ratchet repairs ya, someone will tell you where to go next."

"Jazz!"

A mech and a minibot ran to meet Jazz. They came up short when they noticed the saboteur's companion. The Special Ops team leader pulled them off to the side, dragging Sideswipe with them. Jazz looked up to see if Sideswipe would try to leave before he let go of the warrior's arm, and moved a little further away.

"Bumblebee, Mirage." He squeezed their shoulders, giving both big grins. "'Swipe, where ya goin'?" He looked back, guessing correctly that Sideswipe would try to slip away.

The red and black mech stopped midstep. He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat, and fell in behind Jazz.

"You two wanna tell me what went wrong with this operation?" He modulated his voice low, intending the words for their receptors only. The smiles faded from the two faces and Mirage frowned while Bumblebee crossed his arms over his canopy. "Y' sent me to a decoy."

They stared at the ground in thought, not wanting to meet their team leader's gaze, until Mirage spoke up. "It was on that roof and the other was empty." He paused, his optics darkening. "The energy readings were too high for it to be a simple decoy. There was nothing in the direction that blast came from, I am certain of that!"

Bumblebee glanced up at Jazz's neutral face. "The plans called for a sizable generator, the decoy roof had the likeliest amount of free space. I..." he hesitated, wincing and turning his optics back to the ground. "I completely missed the one they used."

Mirage's optics shifted to glance behind Jazz's shoulder. "He's trying to escape again." He covered his mouth as if in thought, but Jazz could see the grin he hid.

Bumblebee slapped his own hand over his mouth, snickers slipping through his fingers as Jazz whirled.

"'Swipe! Where the slag do ya think yer goin'? We ain't nowhere near medical." He snatched Sideswipe back by the hatch panel on the warrior's arm.

Sideswipe's engine groaned, and he vented a sigh. "Jazz, come on! I'm drained, can't I at least grab some energon before I go?"

A goodie pack appeared in the saboteur's hand, and was promptly offered to the red mech. "I ain't gonna be much longer. I wanna make sure ya get t' Ratch okay."

Jazz watched the red mech take out an energon goodie (even though he only stared dully at it) before turning back to his two team members. He modulated his voice again, so that it wouldn't carry. "Y' were supposed ta destroy the controls, 'Bee." He kept his tone even, a light reprimand in the face of a devastating mission.

"I did!" The other two shushed the minibot when he all but shouted those two words. "They shouldn't have been able to get it to spark a wire, much less blow up a city block!"

Jazz regarded the distraught little mech, his thoughts taking him down paths he'd rather not travel. Yet the truth seemed to stare him in the face. "It's okay, 'Bee." He straightened. "I want a report from both of ya on just what went wrong with the Op."

"Yes sir," they chorused despondently.

"Hey, it's okay." He grinned at them, placing one hand on their shoulders. "I'm sure ya got other things t' attend to. Better go finish up and get those reports in before we move out."

Mirage glanced over Jazz's shoulder, frown creasing his face. "I thought I recognized him. That's Sunstreaker's roommate, right?"

Jazz snapped a surprised look at the taller mech. "You've actually  _talked_ t' Sunstreaker? Without him turning you to scrap?"

Mirage's optics widened with equal surprise. "You mean you haven't spoken to him at all?" The former noble mech's surprise was warranted, as Jazz made it his duty to know every mech in Prowl's unit.

"That slagger is one tough bolt to catch online. I can't imagine you talkin' t' him? He seems like the type t' want to scrap ya fer what ya did."

Bumblebee wore a disgruntled expression, and Mirage grinned guiltily. "I was actually going to take him to task for assaulting Bumblebee like he did." The cultured voice dropped an octave. "But we got to talking. I catch him in the rec room every so often. I don't think he realizes that was me." His mouth curved in wryly amusement

Jazz stared at Mirage. Of all the mechs Mirage could have included in his small list of friends, Jazz would never have expected that violent maniac to finagle his way in. "Y' gotta tell me how you managed this, Raj. Later though, you two need to get going. An' I need t' get 'Swipe t' medical an' see Prowl."

"Prowl's in medical," Bumblebee softly informed Jazz, his optics gleaming with the knowledge that he'd put his Commander in danger.

Jazz winced. Ratchet wasn't going to like that.

The two operatives nodded and turned to go. Jazz grabbed Bumblebee's arm, preventing the smaller mech from leaving. Mirage didn't miss the gesture, as told by the widening of his optics, but he didn't say anything and left.

Bumblebee waited patiently, curiosity alight in his optics. The small smile that had been growing on his lips died when he took in Jazz's stern expression. He didn't resist as the team leader drew him closer, his lips brushing the minibot's audio horns.

"'Bee, did that Decepticon see ya, when you were tryin' ta shoot him?"

The white brow knitted together in confusion. "Which one?"

"That new intelligence officer, masked, and visored?" Jazz ducked his head so that he could meet Bumblebee's wide optics.

"After that red dolt blew my shot, yeah he saw me!" The minibot pulled away slightly, his face going passive rather than reveal the turmoil Jazz could still see in his optics, but even that vanished in a tic. "Why?"

"I need ya ta get over t' Ratchet," he paused, unwilling to voice the order, despite the necessity, "ask him t' give you an intensive processor scan."

Bumblebee pulled away a little more. "What?" he said, his voice little more than a whisper. The order was tantamount to an accusation of treason.

"Don' argue with me. Just get it done. Okay?" Jazz pressed his lips into a thin smile, using his well-practiced reassurance to hide the crawling worry in his circuits. The hurt look on his team member's face pulled at his sympathy. The slagger knew how to use his attributes well, Jazz had ensured that. "Th' Con's a telepath 'Bee. Ya know we can't risk it."

"I would never-"

"I said, don't argue with me." He released the yellow minibot's arm. "I know ya wouldn't." He didn't want 'Bee to think that Jazz thought him a traitor. Far from the truth.

Those few words seemed to alleviate Bumblebee's concern, and he glanced over Jazz's shoulder. "He's gone."

Jazz spun about, wondering what the slag Bumblebee meant. Sideswipe had managed to slip away. "That no good, pile a' rusty scrap! What the slag doesn't he understand about standin' right there, and waitin' for me to go to medical. He'd better be there!"

Bumblebee grinned before beating a hasty retreat from Jazz's playful swat. Even so, he stormed the rest of the way toward the designated medical building, fully intending to bend someone's audio horns if that bot wasn't already there.

He wasn't entirely surprised, though he was extremely disappointed, when he didn't see Sideswipe anywhere in the waiting area. Injured mechs littered the floor and benches, waiting for the medics to attend them.

Wheeljack walked amongst the injured, pausing to check on a mech and direct medics to see to that one, or motion for a corpse to be moved away. He noticed Jazz's sweeping gaze and his vocal indicators flashed in a silent gesture. The saboteur moved closer, never ceasing his search for the red warrior.

"Prowl's still online, waiting for you. Ratchet's got him set up in one of the private rooms." The engineer took in Jazz's wandering gaze.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd go in there and talk to him, now, Jazz. He needs to go offline so his self-repair can work." Ratchet came out of the area marked as the OR, cleaning energon off his red hands. He scowled at the saboteur, light optics narrowing. "Bumblebee and Mirage have already come and gone, if you're looking for them."

"Nah, I'm lookin' for a mech named Sideswipe. Seen him?"

Ratchet frowned, gesturing for Jazz to move. "You mean Sunstreaker's roommate?" He jerked his chin behind him.

Jazz noticed then the gold plating mixed in amidst all the others. "That's the Sideswipe." He wandered over to the golden mech, whom he still hadn't met.

Wheeljack shook his head, stooping next to the offline Sunstreaker. "He hasn't come in here. Is he damaged?" He looked up at Ratchet. "This one was next anyways, Ratch."

"Is Sideswipe damaged? That's like asking if the rain's acid," Ratchet grumbled, kneeling down to look over Sunstreaker.

Jazz stood, stepping out of the two larger mechs way. "Yep. I ain't that well off myself."

Ratchet's light-eyed gaze seemed to finally focus on Jazz and his brows furrowed under his chevron. "Then get in to see Prowl, and get your aft to the OR. I'll have someone check the other units' stations to see if any of them have Sideswipe."

"'Preciate it, Ratch." Jazz waved at the two mechs, homing in on the signal that had been pinging at his comm.

Prowl sat in a private recovery room, small but suited to the purpose it was designed for. He looked up from the datapads he sorted through on his lap. His optics flashed and he hastily gathered the datapads into a stack, frowning at the saboteur. "You don't see these." They vanished into a subspace pocket.

Jazz grinned at the tactician. "I ain't seen nothin'."

His doorwings twitched in amusement, but he flinched. "That's good of you."

Ratchet knew anyways and they both knew it.

Jazz looked his friend over, wincing at the tarp covering his legs. Ratchet wouldn't have placed that there, unless what was under was an unsightly mess. "Did y' get my message?" He turned his gaze back to the tactician's serene face.

"Yes. Communications went down right after." Prowl's doorwings lifted, despite the obvious pain it caused him, his optics brightening as he activated his authoritative programming. "What I want to know, Jazz, is what that weapon was doing on that particular roof? You were supposed to be rendering the canon inoperable, what went wrong and why didn't you realize it sooner?"

Jazz lifted his chin, bringing up his own officer protocols. "The Cons had a decoy set up."

A frown flashed on Prowl's face. "A decoy?" His optics narrowed and his optics flickered as he ran calculations through his battle computer. "A decoy should not have fooled you that long, Jazz. You are not that sloppy."

Jazz's grin turned embarrassed. "Yeah, well..."

Prowl vented a sigh, holding up a hand to halt Jazz's explanation. "I'm sorry, Ratchet is demanding that I go offline for my self-repairs to work." His optics softened. "I wanted to ensure that you returned." He settled back into the angled back of the medical berth, wincing again as he shifted both his legs and his doorwings. He reached up to his helm, drawing out a data chit from the slot underneath his cheekguard. "If you could give me a preliminary report, at least, before you leave the room, I'd appreciate it."

"Sure, buddy." Jazz hastily began writing the report in his processor, even as he took the data chit from Prowl's fingers and inserted it into the slot beneath his own cheekguard.

Prowl smiled slightly as he watched Jazz. "While you're writing that report, mind telling me how Sideswipe handled?"

Jazz winced, his optics dim as he continued to focus a part of his processing power on that slagging report despite Prowl's interruption. "He has a problem wit' authority."

Jazz swore Prowl was laughing at him with his optics. "You noticed?" The white hands clasped on the tarp. "What did he do?"

"He argued with my orders to save a bunch'a civilians. Didn't seem t' think it was his responsibility. Swipe's got some strange ideas 'bout what it means to be an Autobot..."

' _It's just that everyone has always told us-me that w-I belong in the Decepticons. Just ask Prowl._ '

Jazz crossed his arms under his bumper, staring at the floor. His report complete, he searched for and found a packet he kept on his hard drive for just such occasions, when Prowl gave him a personal data chit.

Prowl didn't seem surprised by the revelation about Sideswipe. "Doldrum also had strange ideas about what it meant to be an Autobot, if you will recall. Consider it our duty to re-educate Sideswipe, and his roommate, if he also harbors those ideas." The commander leaned his head back, a brief flash of pain flashing through his knitted brows. "Are you done with that report yet, Jazz?"

Jazz didn't exactly recognize the 'surprise pack', the file title a strange one, a conglomeration of numbers that made no sense. But he recognized the intent of it within his memory banks and transferred it onto the data chit. "It's done." He ejected the diskette, taking it between two fingers and offering it to Prowl, with a little bit of his own added flare. "Y' need t' get some rest Prowl. Do ya need Ratch?"

"It's not necessary to disturb him." Prowl accepted the data chit, inserting it back into his helm drive. His optics dimmed, and he opened his mouth to speak. Only his jaw snapped close and his optics flashed on, wide with alarm. "Jazz, what-" All-too-pale optics stared briefly at Jazz, before Prowl's systems shut down to stand by.

Jazz wondered if Ratchet had initiated a remote shut down, or if Prowl had overstrained himself  _again_. Ratchet was going to have a fit if that was the case. He made sure Prowl was comfortable, his doorwings at a relaxed angle, and nothing bent awkwardly before he left the room.

Ratchet's gaze met his as soon as he left Prowl's room, the medic's optics bleeding free of color as he stared at the door.

"Prowl's rechargin'."

"I know," Ratchet grumped back. His head jerked back down to the mech he and Wheeljack were lifting. "It's just-" Ratchet shook his head, unable to verbalize the cause for his concern. Jazz assumed it was simply the unnerving feeling of Prowl's sudden lack of response, the same reason his optics paled like they did. "Get your aft to the OR."

"Sideswipe?" A small string of hope that the warrior had gone to another unit's medical facility embedded itself in Jazz's processor.

Wheeljack answered as Ratchet blinked in surprise. "He hasn't been reported as being seen by anyone else." His vocal indicators flashed with irritation. "And I mean, no one else has seen him at all."

"We'll worry about that afthead. You get to the OR. I'll have one of the juniors look you over."

His face drawn in a grim smile for the audio-full a certain mech would receive, Jazz obeyed the CMO's orders. As he entered, he couldn't help but pause by the offline golden mech that roomed with Sideswipe. He wished Sunstreaker were online, perhaps he would have some answers about his roommate's strange behavior.


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought I had more of this posted here! I need to update more of my fics here anyways. This fic first. Have quite a few chapters to upload.

Chapter 5

* * *

 

Jazz came online to Wheeljack leaning over him, his hands disconcertingly moving within the saboteur's side.

"Yer a homely face t' wake up to. Ain't Ratchet got rules in place 'bout cruel an' unusual punishment?"

Slowly, Wheeljack turned his head, his optics narrowed and bright, his vocal indicators flashing irritably. "He also has rules about permabonding recalcitrant lip components shut."

Jazz grinned, stretching joints that throbbed from repair. "Is that what happened to ya?"

The engineer's engine rumbled and he tweaked a particular sensor in Jazz's side to draw a surprised burst of noise from his vocalizer. "That's what rumors say, anyways." He closed the panel, giving Jazz a hand up. "Take it easy on that arm until the self-repairs have a chance to finish. The next joor should be good." Wheeljack headed over to another table holding an awfully familiar red mech, impatiently hunched on the berth he occupied. While Jazz was happy to see the old mech, it disappointed him that it wasn't another red mech.

"'That wouldn't be' Hide, would it?" Jazz hopped off the table.

"H'ain't changed none that Ah can see." A grin turned into a grimace as Wheeljack worked to tighten his joints. "Neither has you."

Jazz laughed. "Nope, still same ol' lovable me! I didn't know Prime was comin'. Somethin' wrong?"

Wheeljack paused briefly, readjusting his grip on the tool in his hand, but Jazz couldn't help but notice the look the engineer slid his way.

"Naw, only that one'a his commanders had his legs blown off. Prime was jus' worried." Ironhide winced again. "Red's blowin' a fuse 'cause no one told him of Prime's imminent arrival." The red mech suddenly shot a glare at the engineer. "Do ya have to be so rough, 'Jack?"

Wheeljack didn't even look up. "If you wouldn't leave this off til the last quartex, I wouldn't have to be." He twisted the tool in his hand to make his point, eliciting a grunt from Ironhide. "Speaking of Prowl, he wanted to see you when you came online."

Jazz nodded. "Is Prime with him?"

Wheeljack applied a little grease to the knee he worked on and turned the tool again, drawing a burst of static from Ironhide. "Nah. He's gone to see one of the other units here."

Ironhide started cursing, loudly and roundly. "That glitch mouse! I done told him ta wait fer me!" He moved to get off the table, but yelped suddenly instead.

"You aren't going anywhere 'til I've finished, _'Hide_. Make it anymore difficult and I'll get Chromia on your aft."

Ironhide subsided, grumbling, but allowed Wheeljack to continue his maintenance work.

Jazz laughed, moving to leave them to it. He noticed a golden frame on the berth, and a quick zoom of his vision revealed two black vents. Sunstreaker. He did a flash scan of the mechs in the room, but no, no Sideswipe. He frowned and exited, glancing around the impromptu waiting room for any sign of the warrior. His frown deepened as he noticed the mech's distinct absence. He supposed that Sideswipe could have been released already. Highly unlikely with the number still waiting for attention.

He approached Prowl's room, slowing down as he caught soft murmurs coming from inside. He pinged Prowl, not wanting to disturb the two who got so little alone time as it was. Prowl pinged him back, tagging a hasty 'Enter' onto the signal. The door opened, and Jazz ducked inside.

Ratchet tucked a tarpaulin under Prowl's legs, once again hiding them from sight. Prowl's attention switched from the medic to the saboteur, his pale optics giving the lie to his composed demeanor, revealing just how much pain he was still in. Ratchet's own lightened optics glared at Jazz before turning to the instrumentation around Prowl.

"Prowl, man, you never did tell me why you weren't long gone from that blast?"

Prowl's optics flickered briefly in silent communication and the Commander leaned his head back. "I was trying to pull Bluestreak away."

"Smokescreen could have handled it, you shouldn't have put yourself in danger like that," Ratchet ground out between his dental plates. He cast a glare back at Prowl, before stomping out. "I'll go check on your lucky rescue."

Jazz watched Ratchet leave before turning back to Prowl. "What happened to Blue?"

Prowl shuttered his optics for a moment. "A building collapsed on him. Don't laugh, Jazz."

"Sorry, but that guy's unlucky." Jazz muted his vocalizer, pressing his lips together against the unrepentant grin that pulled at his lips.

Prowl sent him a sour glance, his doorwings twitching and making him wince. "I wasn't about to leave him. I'd mostly had him pulled out when the blast hit." His optics dimmed, flickering again in pain.

Jazz was no longer laughing. "Y' covered him." It wasn't a question.

"Yes," but he didn't elaborate beyond that. He hissed and winced, his fists clenching at his side. "I'm sorry Jazz, but I don't believe I'll be any use to the unit like this." He halted suddenly, groaning as he pressed into the elevated medical berth.

The executive officer blanched at Prowl's words, knowing what the Enforcer meant. "Yeah, okay. Need me to get Ratchet?"

Prowl sent him a sharp look and shook his head. "No, don't disturb Ratchet. I'll call him if I need him." He narrowed his optics, obviously attempting to dredge something up from his processor. "Sideswipe… Ratchet mentioned Sideswipe was missing…" His head thumped back, the effort of keeping it up too much for him.

"He's avoidin' bein' treated for some reason. Ratch still ain't found him?"

"No," Prowl's voice glitched with strain, "I know he'd like us to be able to leave. But we can't…" His engine groaned, halting his words.

Jazz patted Prowl's hand, unable to stand such a strong mech hurting so. Wasn't Ratchet taking care of that? "I'll find 'im." ' _Give him an audiofull, too_ ,' he silently added to himself. "You need t' rest."

"Yes, please. I need to shut down right now."

Jazz looked at his friend before nodding and leaving. He sought out Ratchet, pinging the medic's comm. until he received a locator in return. Ratchet stepped out of the room he had been in, his white paint spattered with coolant. Past the white plating, Jazz could see a grey frame, doorwings standing at rest. The medic automatically glanced at the door down the hall, his pale optics dimming for a moment before he looked to Jazz.

"Doc, what's up with Prowl?"

A frown turned Ratchet's mouth down, and his engine revved. "There's some bug in his systems, I need to get him back to base so I can look it over."

"Couldn't ya at least repair the sensors and th' damage?"

Metal squealed as Ratchet clenched his fist. "If I _could_ ," he practically growled, his mood set to its most savage, "don't you think that I _would_. I don't have the parts," the white shoulders drooped, belying the bright flash of his optics, "and his sensors aren't responding."

Jazz knew better than to press further, the pain at his inability blunt on Ratchet's face. He shifted subjects, trying not to hitch on a topic that struck as close as this one did. "Have ya had a chance to get a look at 'Bee?"

Jazz flinched as he saw that the ire in Ratchet's countenance didn't vanish or fade, but merely changed, changing from pensive to thunderous. "I did." Piercing blue optics glared at Jazz. "I can't bring him back online until we get him back to base. I don't have the equipment here for a proper deep scan. I was borrowing one of the other unit's…" his voice trailed off, and his gaze slid away from Jazz. "I want to scan him with my own."

"You picked up somethin'?"

A sigh hissed out of his vents, accompanying the brief sag of his shoulders. "Yes." He looked to Jazz again. "Prowl wanted to know if either you or Mirage had met that telepath yet?"

"I don't know 'bout Mirage," Jazz stated, making a note to ask the noble mech.

"And you?"

"Nope, sure haven't."

Ratchet huffed again, glancing over his shoulder at the tarp that hid his other patient.

"Still ain't seen a bolt or plate of Sides?"

"No. If you see him drag his aft back here so I can finish up field patches and we can head back to base."

Jazz grinned, saluting the medic with a cheerful 'Will do!' before he turned, grin gone from his face, and stalked out of the medical facility.

' _Prowl's outta commission, and our troops need leadership. The next mech in line for that position's gonna be me.'_ Jazz should be looking for Prime for the official order to take command, but he needed to find Sideswipe first. When Prime gave him the command there would be no time for him to personally look for a single soldier when so many needed his attention. He knew he'd never be at ease if he didn't try to find the red mech first. Sideswipe had more damage than he'd been letting on, and it irked Jazz something fierce to not be trusted by someone he considered a friend.

The other unit commanders would likely be looking after Prowl's unit until a substitute was officially named. It was the Autobot thing to do.

He didn't bother looking in the darkened alleyways, or under the supply tents, that would be too obvious. Sideswipe would seek out somewhere more private than the immediate encampment. Jazz pulled up a map of the neighboring blocks from when they'd planned this escapade. He examined the buildings marked for habitation, the ones marked as empty, and the ones marked as inhabitable. ' _Now, if I was a Toughline tryin' to stay away from goin' to medical for some insane reason, where would I- Aha!'_ Jazz turned and dropped into his altmode.

He wove his way through the encampment, along the lanes marked for vehicle travel, the ones wide enough for two convoys to pass by without rattling the nearby tents and delicate supply depots. He turned down an alleyway, wide enough to let him through, seeking to get through to what was marked as a destroyed and abandoned workshop. If Jazz were damaged and desiring solitude, that would be where he would go: still in comm. range, but just on the edge of other units' sensors, a place with possible tools, plenty of hiding spaces.

Jazz transformed before he came into view of the broken doorway. The second floor's ceiling caved in to clutter a portion of the first floor, and he could see the debris of the building's collapse piled up behind the front windows. Jazz ducked under the leaning threshold, crouching in the shadows automatically as he took in the interior. Only bare shelves remained from those who used to own the shop, dust and debris that should have long been settled, floated through the air. Someone had been through here recently. Jazz slipped behind the counter, his feet crunching on the broken and useless junk that littered the ground. Discarded items that had fallen in the ceiling's collapse.

He peeked around the rear entry, trying to see past the rubble for a glimpse of red and black. He slowly slid to a standing position, unable to see past anything otherwise.

Sideswipe stared straight at him, propped up on fallen scaffolding, one leg extended as the other hung over the edge of his impromptu berth.

Jazz cursed at himself before raising his vocal modulator as he walked carefully around the scattered debris. "Hey, Sides, we been lookin' for ya. Why're ya hidin' out here?"

Sideswipe only stared at him, his face slack. One of his hands slid down the thigh it'd been perched on, swinging gently by the red mech's side.

"Sideswipe?" Real concern started to stir in Jazz's processor and he started moving faster. "Come on, man, this ain't no time to be jokin'." He reached out to Sideswipe, and shook the broad shoulder, seeking some reaction from the red warrior.

He got more than he bargained for.

Sideswipe's optics flashed, and in that same blink of time, he lunged at Jazz, face no longer slack, but twisted in vicious rage. He knocked Jazz off his feet for only a brief astrosecond, before the saboteur caught his balance and grappled to get the mech off.

"Sideswipe, man! What're ya doin'?" Jazz shouted as the warrior's black fist lifted to pound into lighter armor.

Sideswipe blinked, and visibly reset, rocking back on his heels like he'd just come out of recharge. "Jazz?" His jaw worked with surprise, but he managed to stumble to his feet, pulling the smaller mech up with him. "Oh, slag, Jazz, I'm sorry. What were you doing? I was recharging, you shouldn't have startled me like that, you know how we warrior models can be."

Jazz did, but he'd never seen such an extreme reaction before. "Ya weren't recharging, Sides. Yer optics were on."

The pale optics, and Jazz noted with alarm that they hadn't been that shade just a few astroseconds ago, widened. "They were?" Sideswipe grimaced, rubbing at his jointed audio horns as he glared at the floor. "I'm really sorry then, that's a program I wrote. It was from…" he paused, and tried again, "It was to keep…" His glare at the floor seemed to harden, before he looked up at Jazz. "It's from having a lot of pranks pulled on… me. I forgot to deactivate the program when I came here." He grinned apologetically.

Jazz frowned, still not entirely happy with Sideswipe's evasiveness. He cast a look over the still dinged up frame, taking note of the tools scattered on the ground. "Were ya tryin' to repair yourself?"

"Well, yeah, I can do minor stuff…"

Jazz arched a brow ridge, recalling the skill with which Sideswipe had fixed the saboteur's dislocated elbow. "What about th' major stuff, Sides?" Critical optics scanned the red frame. "Ya got any major damage? Besides yer rocket pack, I mean. What'cher diagnostics say?"

Sideswipe looked away and mumbled something.

"What was that?"

The warrior bared his teeth in a feral snarl. "I said, my knee."

Jazz looked down, finally noting that Sideswipe did seem to be favoring one of his legs more. "And ya transformed on it? Y've been _walkin'_ on it? What's wrong?" The black and white mech stared, appalled before he knelt down, examining the bent armor that hid the joint.

Sideswipe stepped back, so that he could sit on a pile of rubble. His knee bent obligingly, and this close, listening for it, Jazz could hear the static cracks and pops of a joint gone wrong. Sparks flickered behind the derma plating, and Jazz could just see enough of the endoskeleton to see the stress fractures running up the frame.

"I kinda shut down before I could get to it." He winced as he shifted. "The other's damaged too. Probably from hitting the building." Sideswipe looked away from Jazz's glare, his discomfort clear on his face.

"Man, ya shoulda had this looked at straight away. Ratchet was hopin' to get goin' soon." He considered his options, running his hands up the white thigh, feeling for any give in the endoskeleton. "How far up does that go?"

Sideswipe shifted uncomfortably, though he said he wasn't in pain when Jazz asked if he was hurting him. But he jumped and yelped when Jazz tried to shift his pelvic joint. This earned him another glare from Jazz, the saboteur's lips pressed together in a frown. "Primus slaggit, Sideswipe! Ratchet's gonna blow a gasket."

Just as he was about to call for transport, Prime pinged for a locator beacon.

He swore behind his dental plates, pinging Prime back with the beacon. He received a startled 'What are you doing out there?' before the Commander General requested his presence.

Jazz sent an acknowledgement then looked at Sideswipe, who didn't even act as though his hip was out of alignment. "Sides, I gotta get goin', an I can't wait for ya, but there's no slagging way I'm leavin' ya here by yerself. Come on."

Jazz slung one of the mech's arms over his shoulders, hoping that Sideswipe didn't have damage anywhere else and wasn't saying anything. Sideswipe stood, barely wincing considering his damage, and tried to pull away from Jazz, but the saboteur held firm.

"I'll be fine, Jazz! Leggo! I can walk. Slaggit!" he snarled as he tried to wrench his arm away again.

Jazz lurched forward, dragging Sideswipe with him. "No ya ain't! Yer gonna lean on me like yer told!"

"No." Tug. "I'm." Pull. "Not!" Sideswipe wrested his hand free of Jazz's grip, and staggered forward a few steps.

Jazz whirled and snatched at Sideswipe helmet, snagging one of his audiohorns in a bid to get the warrior's full attention.

It worked.

Sideswipe shouted in surprise and grabbed at Jazz's arm. But his torso bent obligingly as Jazz's grip tightened on the little bit of metal.

"Yer gonna let me help ya, right?"

"Ow! Owowowowow! Yes! Yes, you can! Ow! Yes, I am!" Sideswipe stilled to look at Jazz from under his helm. "Could you please let go now?"

The petulant look and soft whimper in his voice made Jazz laugh and he released the red mech.

"Thanks." Sideswipe straightened, slowly, still trying to hide the damage he'd sustained on his leg. He fingered his audiohorn, feeling for dents or bends. Jazz patiently waited until Sideswipe gingerly reached out and put his arm back over Jazz's shoulder, leaning his weight on the Sleektilt.

"Is this a part of that friend thing?" he asked after a moment of matching the rhythm of Jazz's slowed pace.

"Ayup! Y' can expect this thing sorta regularly if yer gonna be an aft about needing help."

"Prime." But Sideswipe beamed down at Jazz.

The saboteur shouldered a little more of the Toughline's weight and tried picking up their pace a little, looking to see how Sideswipe was handling it. Then he asked a question that had been bugging his audio receptor for a while. "Ain't you and Sunny friends? Don't he do this?"

Sideswipe's face fell, and then darkened. "That slaghead can go bathe in the smelting Pits for all I care," he snarled. "We're just roommates. Not friends," he fell silent and no amount of prodding from Jazz could get him to open up again.

They reached medical (having been on the receiving end of numerous stares and a few 'Where have you been?' from the mechs in the encampment) and Wheeljack directed them to the surgical room.

Sideswipe dragged his feet, slowing them down, and Jazz worried that he might have been pushing the damaged mech too hard. But Sideswipe dismissed Jazz's concerned queries with a shrug. When they entered the room, Sideswipe's pale optics focused with singular attention on the golden mech that still lay offline.

There was an empty gurney right there, and it was nearby, so Jazz directed Sideswipe there.

Sideswipe halted, refusing to budge, though he winced as Jazz prodded him to move. "I'm not laying there." He slipped free of Jazz and leaned against the wall, dragging himself along it toward the other side of the room.

Jazz followed, but his attempts to help were promptly brushed off by the warrior. Jazz noted with some alarm that Sideswipe's pale optics had widened and his ventilations rushed harshly. He seemed panicked, and, Jazz glanced at the golden mech laying oblivious on the gurney, it seemed Sunstreaker was the cause. But he couldn't puzzle out why.

Trembling from the strain of his movements, Sideswipe pushed himself onto an empty gurney, lying down with a relieved sigh.

Ratchet appeared at the doorway, and his pale-opticked glare boded ill for the stubborn warrior. He turned briefly to Jazz with a nod. "Thanks for bringing him in, Jazz. Prime's waiting for you in Prowl's room." Ratchet then turned his attention to the red mech with a snarl. "And you, you little glitch! What the slag do you think you were doing out there?"

Jazz slipped out, having been witness to many of Ratchet's fits.

He headed for Prowl's room, pinging Prime to let the Commander General know he was on the way.


End file.
